


Cary

by sarish11



Category: Baby-Sitters Club - Ann M. Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 08:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7632412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarish11/pseuds/sarish11
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cary left a boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cary

Stoneybrook.

Cary had reason to get away. No one would ever truly understand, especially his mother, but Cary had read enough to realize there was more to life than Stoneybrook.

At the persistence of his mom, Cary promised to check in- and he kept that promise, using what little money he had left from odd jobs to purchase stamps. Never a phone call, only random letters (albeit short ones) or postcards if he felt up to them. He did his best to send them monthly – it was his promise – to at the very least; let her know he was still alive.

Selfish as it was, Cary left a week after graduating high school. Not in the traditional sense you'd assume a high school graduate would – there was no comfortable dorm waiting for him with an awkward roommate, at the prestigious college of his choice (and there could have been, had he chose) – no – Cary could not fathom the idea of another 4 years in such a mundane setting. Instead he packed up an old duffel bag with his savings, a couple changes of clothes, his most prized copy of _On the Road_ – which seemed fitting at the time – and _Catcher in the Rye_ – a book he had often turned the pages of since 8th grade. He also packed some sandals for when it got hot, a blanket, a matchbook, a swiss army knife, and a blank journal – his new canvas. Then there was the letter his mom snuck in, tucked safely into the front pocket of his bag; a reminder that he was not alone.

Which he wasn't. His traveling provided plenty of company. Sometimes Cary welcomed it with a warm smile, sometimes he wasn't in the mood. Oftentimes it would be a drunk person next to him at a bar, or the cute barista behind the coffee counter. On recollection, Cary would never be able to describe this time as alone.

He didn't tell anyone he was leaving – outside of his family and Alan. There was no facebook update, no emails, no phones calls. Alan begged to tag along, but Cary had merely shrugged. He didn't exactly see Alan as the type who could function without the comforts of home, and admittedly, he didn't want to have someone else there to have to consider. His dad was the only one who tried to understand.

Cary left a boy.

For the first time Cary felt free. He hitchhiked a lot, an art that although seemed lost, came as a moderate surprise of how many people welcomed him into their cars. He wasn't sure why – although he wasn't considered a big person, he wasn't small either. Along with the mysterious glint his mellow brown eyes seemed to always have and the signature smirk he often plastered on his face – he was surprised so many did. For all anyone really knew, they could have been picking up an ax-murderer.

Once in a while, he'd hop trains, going from town to town, sometimes staying for a day – sometimes weeks – never longer than a month. He'd pick up random jobs, staying when the money was good, leaving when the town got boring. He staked out the best bookstores and coffee shops, spending hours reading and writing. If he happened to finish a journal, he would leave it – somewhere in the town – as means of making his mark. He never needed much – he preferred to sleep outside, and it didn't take much to keep him happy other than the occasional hot meal, coffee, or cold beer.

He walked a lot. It was his favorite way to travel, and it offered a lot of time to take in his surroundings. Which were plenty.

Never once did Cary consider himself to be homeless – he always knew he would have a home back in Stoneybrook if he had decided to take it – but he was sure he often came off to others as such. He made diligent effort to keep himself looking halfway decent, bathing and shaving whenever a public restroom, lake, or pond was provided. What Cary did consider himself was; happy.

For six years Cary lived like this. Six of the best damn years of his life. It had given him a chance to really live and feel and breathe. And it made his writing good – even if he never had anything to show of it.

However, it was time to go home, more for his mothers sake than his own.

As he regarded the person driving the old Cadillac with a salute, his parents small white house he had spent most of his teenage years in beamed in front of him, demanding his attention. He stood just outside the door, studying the knocker with a scrawled R intertwining the handle, he wondered if he should knock. 

“Mom, Dad,” his deep voice called as he finally opened the door.

Cary returned a man.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an oneshot - something I wrote several years ago. Also need to give credit to my friend jeez for helping inspire and talking about Cary so often!


End file.
